


Love under my will only

by AeAyem



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light-Hearted, M/M, Nobody's dying nobody's betraying everyone is happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeAyem/pseuds/AeAyem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted happy, occasionally shippy, drabbles about the Tribunal back when they were mortals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> PAIRING: Sotha Sil/Almalexia.  
> In which Sotha Sil comes home to a surprise.  
> This was written for Sehti (ja-khajjay on tumblr) <3

“Sil… “ Almalexia stood like a ghost at his doorway, hidden by the shadows of late evening.

Brow creased, Sotha Sil raised his eyes from his book to look at her. “Lady Almalexia? What time is it?”

“Late. I’m sorry for waking you, but you arrived so late in the evening…”

“You didn’t wake me.” He frowned and turned in his chair to see her better. Her voice was oddly soft, and she was wearing a far oversized robe that hid her shape entirely, not at all like the flashy garments she usually walked around in. It’d been six months since they’d last seen each other, and though he’d halfway anticipated that Almalexia would welcome him back from his journey regardless of the hour, he hadn’t expected this odd and almost timid encounter.

“I wouldn’t have come at all, it’s so late…” she continued, obviously fretful, “But it’s urgent. There’s something I needed to tell you.”

Sotha Sil felt his pulse spike slightly. “Yes?”

“Well…” her voice caught.

“Ayem–”

“Gods, I don’t know, don’t be angry–”

“I won’t be angry. What’s wrong?”

“Seht, I’m pregnant. And it’s yours."

There was a long moment of stunned silence.

Then Sil noticed that her gown was giggling.

He groaned and turned back to his book, just as she burst into laughter and doubled over. Vivec came falling out of her robe and landed on the floor, also laughing, so hard that he was barely able to choke out:

“You believed her!”

“You actually believed me! Sil, you should’ve seen your face!”

“You looked so shocked–”

“I am surrounded by idiots.” He announced, bending his head to focus on his book. “I didn’t believe you. Either of you. It’s not even possible–”

Vivec, sniggering like the child he evidently was, staggered over and wrapped his arms around Sil’s shoulders. “Don’t lie, your expression betrayed all.”

“Really!” Almalexia was slumped against the doorway, giggling. “You looked outright terrified, I’ve never seen you so shocked.”

Sotha Sil sighed and turned the page of his book. “Of course I looked scared.” he muttered, almost to himself. “My wife would murder me if another woman fell pregnant with my child.”

A second, even more stunned moment of silence fell across the room. This time it wasn’t broken by any giggling. There wasn’t even a whisper to ease the tension.

“Your… “ Vivec finally choked out.

“… Wife?” Almalexia finished for him.

Sotha Sil continued reading his book calmly, even as he heard Vivec yell “Ayem–” and lunge away from him, followed by the unmistakeable sound of a sword smashing a shelf. “YOUR _WIFE_?!”

“My wife.” Sotha Sil confirmed.

“You’re _married_ now?!”

“Why do you think I was called to Ald Sotha?”

“Put the sword down, Ayem!” there was the sound of a brief struggle, and then Vivec stumbled back to Sotha Sil’s desk, holding a sword with the unmistakeable blue glow of Hopesfire. Sotha Sil remained stubbornly focused on his book.

“You didn’t even tell us!” Almalexia shouted.

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Well? Who is she?!”

“A Telvanni girl.” Sotha Sil turned the page of his book, his voice perfectly calm. “Father believed our marriage would strengthen ties between our Houses.”

“Is she here?” Almalexia demanded. “What does she look like? Where is she?”

“Almalexia–” Vivec warned.

“Yes, she came with me. She’s very pretty. I’m rather infatuated with her.”

Vivec was looking helplessly between the two of them, still clutching Almalexia’s sword. Sotha Sil didn’t even have to glance over his shoulder to know that Almalexia was fuming like an overheated boiler.

“Well?” She finally hissed, as if doing so pained her. “What’s her name, then?”

Sotha Sil had to pause and relish the moment before he answered, matter-of-fact: “Dwemer Cog Centurion Prototype 0258.”

He had just a second to enjoy Vivec’s whole-hearted laughter before Almalexia’s fist rammed into the back of his head and turned his world black.

-

When he’d come to, and Vivec had managed to settle down (though he kept bursting into rapturous declarations that Sil was ‘his new god’), and Almalexia had composed herself again (‘I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t!’), they sat together and talked long into the night. They talked until their voices were sore, until ash-tinted light filtered through the high windows of the room and birds sang through the window.

“‘Yem.” Vivec’s head was resting in Sil’s lap, his voice a sleepy murmur. “Didn’t Nerevar say we had a counsel this morning or something?”

“Something like that.” Almalexia was sitting opposite them on the floor, her legs crossed neatly and her eyes half-closed. “At… an hour past sunrise?”

“Isn’t it an hour past sunrise now?” Sotha Sil pointed out.

Vivec sat up so quickly that Sotha Sil almost choked on a sudden mouthful of mohawk. “Shit! I’m sorry, Sil! We’ll speak later!” A hasty embrace, and then Vivec was dashing out the door, while Almalexia was quickly trying to straighten out her clothes. Sotha Sil stood too, and turned to rearrange his desk.

“I need to go too.” Almalexia said apologetically.

Sil shook his head. “It’s fine. Give Nerevar my regards.”

“I will. Oh, and Seht–”

Sotha Sil turned to face her, but the moment he did there were hot lips against his, and a pair of warm arms embracing him, trapping their bodies together for the briefest of seconds.

“I missed you.” And then she was chasing Vivec out the door, leaving Sotha Sil stunned in his tracks–-

And rather glad that he wasn’t actually married yet.


	2. Scribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sotha Sil-Almalexia friendship, set when they're both children.   
> Summary: In which Sotha Sil finds some scribs. 
> 
> I posted this before, but I'm relocating it here and deleting the other version-- I'm starting to feel like I'm overtaking the tag, haha.

The sun beat down hot that day, and ash-clouds remaining from last night’s storm only amplified the heat, until the lagoon-side town of Ald Sotha had turned into an oven from which even the hardy Velothi were forced to seek shelter. The shimmering air made guar-cropped grass look as inhospitable as Molag Amur’s broken turf, and neither rugged Kagouti nor miniscule Forager dared venture into the open summer’s wrath.

Sotha Sil didn't mind the heat.

The boy sat perched in one of the high spires of a Daedric shrine. He was a Velothi himself, one of the Chimer and no older than ten years, with the slim build and thoughtful gaze that could be often found in any promising mage. Indeed, he’d already earned himself a reputation as Ald Sotha’s youngest magical prodigy; a reputation, perhaps, unfairly emphasized by the reclusive nature common among his house. But Sil hardly considered it his problem what people thought of him, wrongful or otherwise. He was barely even aware of his own reputation. After all, rumors were far beneath him.

For now his attention remained on the blazing landscape. From where he perched on the roof of the shrine, he almost fancied he could see the clockwork behind the shimmering air. Cloud-wisps shaped by carefully organized gusts of wind; the deceptively deliberate branches of trees; patterns where patterns had to be. Patterns, connections. As if in a trance his eyes scanned the blurred scenery, and with things so distorted by the cruel sun, it almost seemed as if he were on the verge of learning–

A hand on his arm diverted his attention. He quickly pulled away and inched forwards, but then wiry fingers grasped his shoulders and pulled him back. His hiss of surprise did little to sway the unwelcome touch.

“Little Seht,” His grandmother sighed. “You will be burned in this cruel air.”

Sotha Sil leaned back and fixed the woman with a scowl. She didn’t balk, but only looked at him with those mournful eyes of hers. Sad, wise, unreadable eyes. She’d been born of the ashlanders, or so his relatives said, and the more fanciful retainers claimed that this gave her knowledge only the Daedra should know.

Rumors were beneath him. He shuddered anyways and climbed to his feet.

“No I won’t,” he replied firmly. “I’m fine. Go away.”

“Little Seht.” The old woman sighed again. “Come inside. It is cool in the shrine and your father wishes to give you your lessons.”

“I don’t want lessons.” he told her. “I want to be left alone. I can learn fine on my own.”

“Little Seht–”

Sotha Sil hated to be scolded. Besides, the grand revelation of the physical world seemed to be humming in his ears like a siren’s song, far more alluring than any art-craft or swordsmanship his Father could teach. So, without hesitation, he flung himself forwards and off of the tower.

Gravity yielded to will, docile as a lamb, and magika lowered him gently to the ground. Within moments the levitation spell wore off and then he was fleeing through searing sunshine on foot. Was he being chased? He didn't turn to check, but a second's reasoning told him no. The old crone could never keep up with him and the family was used to his absences. Yet it felt as if her eyes were daggers in his back, a curse, and that childish notion kept him running until his breath was fire in his lungs.

Strong as this heat-frenzied fancy was, the pain might not have been enough to stop his flight. But even fear, it seemed, had to yield to the physical, and so Sotha Sil came to an abrupt stop when his foot caught a plant and sent him tumbling into a ditch.

For several seconds there was only pain. Moons-and-stars danced madly about his head. Then he slowly came around, and sat up with a groan. It hurt, and his first (shameful) impulse was to let out a sob, but then it turned out that his mouth was filled with ash and he hacked out a glob of gray paste instead. Panic seized him, and he frantically used his hands to wipe the dirt from his eyes. Where the hell was he?! Tears cleared his vision within moments and he blinked.

He was sitting in a shallow foyada. Above him the remnants of an ash-storm fell like snow, already covering his head and shoulders. Flakes of it settled on his wet cheeks. He blushed and hastily cleaned them away with the sleeves of his dusty robe. His head still ached, and when he pulled his sleeves from his face they came away bloody. He must’ve hurt himself in the fall.

But there was no sense in sitting around and crying about it, so Sotha Sil stood up and began to walk.

At first it hurt to move, and for once he keenly wished he hadn’t skipped his healing lesson. Using his magic for restoration wasn’t something that came naturally, and it was only mildly embarrassing to admit that he couldn’t fix something so simple as a scratch. But if he focused determinedly on other things– the interesting shape of the curving foyada, and the way the ash fell in spirals, and the volcanic rocks beneath his feet– he could ignore it well enough.

For a moment, anyway.

It was still hot, mercilessly hot. It made focusing hard, and thought harder, until Sotha Sil’s mind was as blurry as the air around him. It made him feel dull. How frustrating.

Even worse, he was starting to get bored.

For a while he walked onwards, as if the little foyada would yield something interesting for him to study. It didn’t, and eventually he surrendered to the boring landscape, slumping against one bank with a heavy sigh. For things that had once been rivers of fire, one would think that a foyada would have more… mystery. At least something magical, some artifact to ponder over or a crystal to puzzle out. How could something be so simply bland?

The sun beat down overhead. The wind reluctantly stirred a puff of ash. A scrib scuttled past and stopped to thump a warning against the ground.

Sotha Sil idly picked up a rock and tossed it at the scrib. It landed in the ash with a dull thud, and the scrib fled. The boy’s hand found another rock, and this time the scrib let out a squeal when the projectile struck its back. Grinning now, Sotha Sil grabbed a third rock and darted after his prey. Here the bank of the foyada opened in a broad crack where several of the bugs had crowded, and to Sil's utter delight they scattered chaotically when his rock landed in the middle of their group.

He bent to collect another projectile as the panicked scribs scuttled about his feet. He raised it in the air–

“STOP THAT!”

The cry caught him off guard, as did the hand that suddenly gripped his wrist. He whirled around and found him face to face with a girl his age, but whose face was contorted with angry tears.

“Stop that!” she repeated, and made to snatch the rock from his hand. “Why are you doing that?! You’re hurting them!”

Sotha Sil dropped the rock out of sheer surprise. The emotion that rose in his chest was indignation, but he found himself choking out an excuse.

“I didn’t mean to– I didn’t want– It’s not like I meant to hurt them! I didn’t even hit any!”

“It was still a mean thing to do!” The girl yelled. “How would you feel if some big stranger started throwing rocks at you? You hurt them! Why would you do that?”

Perhaps it was the sincerity of the grief in her voice. Perhaps it was the heat, or his injury. But Sotha Sil abruptly felt tears pouring down his cheeks. Remorseful, bitter tears. The scolding stung, all the more because she was right, and guilt was an unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling to him. He wrenched his hand away from her, turned on his heel, and fled for the second time that day.

He ran as long as he could and then some, ran until he couldn’t, until he was exhausted and had to come to rest under a haggard tree. There were still tears running down his face, stinging the cut from earlier as well as his pride, and he desperately tried to stem them with his dirty robesleeves. Every gesture only made his face muddier, and after a moment he gave up and put his face in his knees and sobbed instead.

He felt her before he heard her. Her thick skirts rustled slightly as she sat down next to him, and for a moment that was the only sound she made.

“… I didn’t mean to upset you.” she said. He recognized her voice from before, but now it sounded cowed and guilty, as if she’d done something wrong.

Sotha Sil peeked over his knees at her. “Are the scribs okay?”

She nodded and he sighed. “I didn’t mean to hurt them. I just…”

The girl was silent for a moment, but then she gasped. “Oh!” her eyes found his face and she inched closer. “You’re hurt!”

“Not badly. It’s okay.”

“May I take a look?”

He still felt sheepish enough that he nodded and uncurled, and the girl promptly laid both hands on his face to conduct her investigation. She was quite different from him, he noticed dimly. They were of the same height and race, but her hair was bright red, her frame plump and healthy, her clothes more expensive than anything he’d ever seen on Vvardenfall. She was also, it seemed, more talented in restoration than he was, because suddenly a pleasant coolness rushed over his face and the pain disappeared as if it’d never been.

“All done!” she sat back with a proud grin. Sotha Sil dumbly raised a hand to probe the place the scratch had been; it was no longer there.

“Um… thanks.”

“You should really be more careful. All this ash could make you sick. Is there always so much ash on Vvardenfall?”

“Well, yes, Red Mountain’s a volcano.”

“Oh.” She paused for a moment. “My name’s Almalexia.”

“Almalexia?”

“That’s right. My father’s a merchant. We came here to meet with House Sotha about alchemy sanctions and the export of rare ingredients. It’s very important business, I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”

“I’m Sotha Sil,” Sil replied with a shrug. “But I don’t pay much attention to that stuff. It’s boring.”

To his surprise, Almalexia’s face lit up. “Sotha Sil!” she gasped. “I’ve heard of you! Father says you’re famously good at magic.”

“I guess…”

“Can you teach me how to shoot fireballs?”

The sun was still hot, the landscape still simple, but somehow, Sotha Sil suspected his life was about to become a little less boring.


End file.
